Warriors
by merick
Summary: After Lorelei is captured and the world settles into the closest semblance of normalcy it can, Sif returns to seek out Agent Coulson with questions and answers. How one simple statement can set the mind to thinking and the heart to melting.


The plane had remained on the tarmac pending further orders from SHIELD after the Asgardian incident, or whatever it was that SHIELD was going to end up calling the arrival and subsequent apprehension of Lorelei. The hangar deck ramp had been left open, as it often was when stationary, faint lights from beyond the bulletproof doors of Fitz-Simmons' lab bathing the steel deck plates, and the cherry red of Lola's bodywork in a dim glow. Seemingly unguarded, it was not; an alert was raised in the cockpit and in Coulson's office as the unexpected guest, who made no attempt to conceal herself, mounted the gangway with the solid footfall of leather boots and the associated ring of armor plate.

May reached the visitor first, prepared for a fight should one be required. She was confused.

"Lady Sif?"

"Agent May, I bid you a good evening." The Asgardian warrior bent her head with respect. "I had hoped that I might find your team still here. I wonder if I might speak with your commander?"

"Lady Sif?" Coulson had emerged from his office, peering over the railing, still clad in his grey suit and tie, still as focused as he always was.

"Might I speak with you?" The Lady turned her face upwards to see Coulson.

"Of course, come up." He motioned to the circular stair.

With a nod to May, Sif crossed her path and took the single helix to the catwalk above. Her boots echoed on the steel steps, her armor plate rang like church chimes, Coulson thought. He waited until she stood on the same level as he before he questioned her.

"Is there a problem? Has Lorelei escaped again?" He kept the tone of his voice collected even though he felt a little spike of anxiety.

"I could take that inquiry as an insult to my abilities Son of Coul." Her lips pulled thin and her eyes narrowed. "The witch has been safely delivered to the prisons of Asgard, and my duty to the All-Father discharged for this day."

"My apologies Lady Sif. I did not mean to question your abilities or honor."

"A sensible question though." She sighed deeply for a reason that Coulson had yet to understand. "No true offense was offered and none will be taken." Her head bowed slowly in acknowledgment of him.

From back on the hanger deck, May mumbled to herself.

"Not that the prisons of Asgard are all that secure." Knowing both of the people above her could not have failed to hear her comment, she kept her arms crossed over her chest and glared up at the gangway. Coulson shot her a gaze that she knew well, not truly chastisement, but a warning not to continue on her current path. Her stern expression did not change despite it.

"Would you like to speak in my office?" Coulson asked of Sif with a polite tilt of his head, ignoring May's mood. Her wariness had saved both their lives before; he was prepared to give her some leeway.

"I would."

Following her into his office, Coulson noticed that she still wore her sword, sheath and her full body armor. He shut the door behind them, curious but quiet about her reappearance.

"I am pleased that you were still here Son of Coul, I felt that perhaps we had left some business between us unfinished." She turned around in the small room, taking in the sparse furnishings, orderly desk, and glass cases of objects that meant little to her, but obviously bore importance to him; evidenced by the way they were displayed. "May I sit?"

"Of course." Coulson felt some of his apprehension fade as Sif took a seat, seeming to relax somewhat. Certainly she could not be bringing some dire type of news if she was prepared to become comfortable to tell it. He sat beside her on the small couch.

"We spoke of duty earlier." She began.

"We did." He agreed.

"No one has ever asked me the type of question you did Son of Coul." Her dark brown eyes seemed as serious as the words, if not quite as cryptic. Coulson could tell by her gaze that something had disturbed her, quite deeply.

"Phillip." He offered.

"Phillip?"

"My first name, it sounds less formal than 'Son of Coul'." Coulson curled up the right corner of his mouth in a little smile, hoping to ease the tension he felt was building.

"Phillip. Very well then, I am honored by the familiarity you grant me."

"You said I had asked you a question?" He prompted.

"You made me think Phillip, about duty, and what we have sacrificed for it."

"We?"

"You are a warrior, no different than I; beholden to a commander, a king, a general, whatever it be called in your realm. We do the tasks that are asked of us, and we do not question. It has been a rare time when I have sat and considered those sacrifices. I would have called it self pity but for you."

"When I asked you if you would have killed Lorelei for what she had done to you?"

"Yes. I could sense that you yourself had been cursed with making the same choice as I."

"That transparent was I?"

"Not transparent, but wise." She smiled softly, remembering. "You remind me of another, one who also made me look within. Someone I miss greatly."

"I am sorry if I have caused you sadness."

"Quite to the contrary Phillip. You have given me a sense of something I had long ago shut away in favor of duty."

"And what is that, if I might be so familiar?"

"Hope. You have given me hope that I might yet be more than a warrior."

"Not that I mean to question, but opening yourself up to hope also leaves room for hurt, are you certain you are prepared for that Sif?"

"I believe I am." Her words were measured and low.

As if in slow motion (at least to Coulson) she leaned across the small couch towards him and very gently pushed her lips against his, holding position, only that small touch connecting them for the count of several breaths, then she pulled backwards, smiling softly.

"Well, I certainly didn't see that coming." He whispered, looking directly at her, confusion in his expression. The hopeful smile on her face faded.

"Perhaps I have misunderstood the connection I felt." She said, haltingly. "I feel foolish. It would likely be better if I left now. My apologies for disturbing your peace." She stood. Coulson rose to his feet as well, reaching out to touch her arm as she made to turn away from him.

"No. Don't leave." He urged her closer to him with a gentle pull against the bare skin of her upper arm. "It was just unexpected." He smiled again, his eyes softening. "It has been a long while since," He stopped speaking and let his hand drop back to his side.

"For myself as well." She finished the sentence. "Have I misunderstood Phillip? Have I deluded myself?"

"No, I don't think so. I don't know." His brow wrinkled. "I suppose I didn't let myself think of things in that way. I guess I'm not as enlightened as you."

"You are too kind."

"This isn't a platitude Sif. I have always respected you, and admired your skills, since the first time I saw you in the desert, fighting the automaton."

"Nothing more?"

"I never thought. It's not something I generally consider." He shrugged his shoulders, raising his eyebrows with confusion.

"You are pressed to your duty." Sif tilted her head a little, but continued the serious gaze she had locked with Coulson.

"And I'm not prepared yet to open up myself to much else."

"There is a wound that is too fresh?"

"There are a great many wounds." Coulson broke the gaze with a deep sigh, his eyes dropping to the carpeted floor.

"I have been told that to share your burdens may make them feel lighter?" Sif reached out to take the limp hand at Coulson's side. She clutched it within her own, believing that she might even be able to feel the steady thump of his pulse against her palm. It surprised her how calm it seemed, in the face of words that hinted of a greater distress. He remained quiet, but did not drop her hand; quite to the contrary, he squeezed it a little harder even as he turned away, focused on the glass cases and what lay within. It was left to her to begin.

"Lorelei corrupted the mind of the man I loved, brought his affections and intimacies to her. Like your Agent May I bit back the agony of losing him, denied the pain to everyone, even to him. And in his shame he withdrew from me, from all whom he had known, and left Asgard for one of the other realms, begging no one to follow. I threw myself into battle after battle so that no one would believe that I had been compromised."

"I'm sorry Sif."

"Then I let myself be wooed by the words of others, who felt in their hearts that they had found me a good match. Their words crept under my skin and into my heart until I nearly allowed myself to hope that their dreams for me would come true. Having lost one man it was a little easier to lose another, not that I had ever truly had Thor Odinson. We were comrades in arms, friends perhaps, but little more."

"He found Dr. Foster here on Earth."

"It seems Midgard may have given us both a gift?"

"I don't know what I can offer you Sif."

"Perhaps it is what I can offer you?"

They stared at each other for a few moments, audibly breathing through parted lips.

"She was a cellist, she is a cellist." Coulson smiled weakly as he corrected himself. "She was told I was dead."

"As Thor believes?"

"Yes. The same necessary subterfugue." He spoke very thoughtfully, remembering the story, (though internally beginning to question the need for that cover-up). "I'm told she mourned for me."

"And have you mourned for her?"

What came to mind was the pragmatic answer he had told himself over and over again in the dark, as he had listened to his music, torturing himself with yet another thing he had lost.

"She still lives, she's likely better off without me. It's fairly certain that I am going to die doing this job, and possibly this next time for real. I can't put her through finding me, only to lose me again."

"Or is it the other way around Phillip?" The pull of her hand turned him back to facing her and away from the antiques in the cases behind his desk.

"I thought Saga was the goddess of wisdom?"

"I am no goddess but you honor me with your words once again. You have a kind heart, Phillip, Son of Coul, I can see why Thor speaks often of you. Your friendship has transcended much despair. Thank you for sharing your sorrow with me."

"Well, we could spend the whole night complimenting each other." Coulson tried to inject some kind of levity into a conversation that was turning quite forlorn.

"We could. Though there may be even more pleasant pursuits for two miserable warriors such as we." Her grip on his hand tightened minutely.

Coulson stared at the raven-haired beauty in front of him; strong, bedecked in a warrior's armor, blade on her back, eyes as dark as pools of deep water, but yet still a woman despite the polished countenance. There was grace beneath every muscle movement, behind every curve of her lips and tilt of her head. Any man who could have turned from her was, in his estimation, a fool, magical interference or not. Though he kept his face as neutral as he was able, Coulson could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage and he wondered if his hands wouldn't start to shake just a little. It was an odd state to find himself in.

With caution he reached out the hand that was not entangled with hers, her eyes following its movements until she could focus on it no longer. He brushed it over her cheek, feeling her turn just subtly into the touch.

"It has been so long." He repeated, a trancelike lilt to his voice. It was his turn to lean into her and press a kiss to her mouth. Dropping her hand he slipped his arm around her waist to pull the two of them closer together, even as he felt the increased pressure of her parted lips against his. He found himself all too willing to deepen the kiss and tilted his head just a little for better purchase.

"Wow." He sighed as he pulled away from her.

"Now that is a much more appropriate response to a kiss." Sif said with a smirk.

Coulson could only laugh; he found that it felt very good to do so, and also as if it had been a very long time since he had. Laughter brought with it endorphins and a lightness of spirit that could not be dismissed.

Her own eyes sparkling with the bit of fun, Sif reached for the buckle that held her sword in place and loosened it, slipping the scabbard over her head, not at all awkwardly (Coulson thought to himself). Sif placed the package atop his desk. Next she reached for Couslon's tie, pulling just a little on the knot, bringing her mouth close to his ear as she did so.

"Have you a bedchamber here Phillip?" She whispered. He felt a breath catch in his throat and was unable to answer.

"Of course we could always use your desk." Sif teased.

"We have billets, but they're one deck down."

"Pity. Where shall we find the comfort and privacy to make love then?"

Coulson definitely choked out his answer.

"The couch folds down."

"What luck."

As she began to unfasten the plates of her armor and the leather bracers Coulson turned away. If his heart had not been pounding before, it certainly was then. It was too great a temptation to overthink what he seemed about to do, too easy to question, and suffer guilt. He forced himself to closet away that part of his regret, to give in to the circumstances that were well beyond his personal admonishment. His back to her he slipped his arms from his suit jacket and hung it over the back of his office chair. It took a simple click on the back of the couch and the leather supports folded backwards to flat, blankets, hidden away in a bulkhead storage, (accessed by the gentle push of the upper right corner of the wooden panel) were laid across it. Only then did Coulson dare to turn back around. The sight stole the breath from his lips.

Her shift had been previously hidden beneath the leathers, plate and undergarment. It was delicate, incongruous with what had only so recently covered it. She seemed an entirely different woman, yet still the same, if that made any sense at all to his mind just then. Harsh lines from the armor had given way to soft curves which had always been there, if you looked in the right manor. He took a very deep breath in and out through parted lips.

"You are wearing altogether too much clothing for pursuits such as this." Sif whispered as she walked towards him. She reached for the previously loosened tie, pulling it off, then for the buttons on his pressed white shirt. Coulson was glad for it because he doubted that he could have made his fingers work at such a delicate task right then, so great was the apprehension clouding his mind. She parted the now loose sides revealing his chest; he shuddered as she ran her fingertips along the scar there.

"Such a grievous wound." She said softly, looking from the jagged pale gash up to his eyes.

"A mortal one." He replied.

"This is the work of Loki?"

"And his blasted spear." He felt her hand move upwards along his chest. "This is what changed everything."

"Would that we could have taken you to the healers of Asgard. Perhaps they could have lessened the damage?"

"Perhaps they would have let me die?"

"Do not speak in such a manor Phillip, we would all be the poorer for your loss. You do not know the impact you have had in this realm and in my own." She curled her fingers around the back of his head and pulled forward to kiss him again, taking a breath from his lips. "My life would be the lesser for your absence." She tugged the shirttails from his waistband and pushed the fabric from his shoulders, casting it away. Again she went to his scar, bending her head to kiss along it as Coulson closed his eyes and counted his breaths.

For a moment, with his eyes closed Coulson felt the warmth of her presence disappear, only to reappear lower, on his waist, tugging at the fastenings of his trousers, loosening them. Palms pressed against his hips, sliding them, and his briefs away, exposing himself to her (but for his socks – and he couldn't quite remember how those had come off, or when as he thought back on the night).

"Lay back Phillip." She cooed at him, so he did.

Sif crawled over his legs, the silk shift running up as she did, shadows betraying an intimacy to him.

"Be gentle with me."

"Is that what you really want?"

"No." Coulson spoke on a deep breath, her smile was worth it all.

Melinda May had sat, stewing with anger and suspicion since Lady Sif had stepped aboard her bus. It truth, she always had anger and suspicion on a low boil in her system, it kept her sharp, it kept her alive. But in the quiet of the night, Ward, medicated into sleep by Simmons, the other three team members closeted in their own berths for the night, (Skye still recovering from her own ordeal), the simmer threatened to overflow. May had reason to be wary of Asgardians, and not only because of Lorelei. Loki had killed Coulson, setting into motion a series of events, which even now had not fully played out. Thor continued to profess his guardianship of the planet even as his brother sought to enslave it, and seemed mysteriously absent to the whole issue of the Clairvoyant; returning with other denizens of the nine realms to destroy part of London. And those instances were not even connected to the Berserker warrior whose cavalier attitude towards his weapon had caused the death of many innocent civilians, and opened a dark place in Ward and herself. In truth, she felt as if Earth (or Midgard as they called it) would have been far better off without their interference. Now one was closeted with Coulson, her friend, doing God knew what. Enough time had passed; she deserved to know what was going on, what was so important that Sif had to return to speak to Coulson. What threat were they discussing? And why was she not a part of it? Determined, she took the stairs to the upper deck, pausing outside the closed door to Coulson's office, and listened.

All was quiet for a few breaths and her worry began to grow, had Sif incapacitated Coulson? Had she turned his mind like Lorelei had done to Ward? She would fight to prevent that, fight to save her team and her bus, and so she put a hand out and grasped the door handle, prepared to pull it open, off its frame if necessary. But a sound stopped her, a chill running the length of her spine. Not a cry of pain, not a cry of warning, but a sound not unfamiliar to her. She pulled her hand back.

A jumble of thoughts battled for dominance in her brain, that Sif had enchanted Coulson preeminent among them. But Melinda May was not a Berserker; logic tried to rule emotions, and often won the fight. She had no reason to suspect, or even dislike Sif. She had seen the footage of the woman at work against the guardian Loki had sent, without thought to her own safety; it had been impressive. So had her recent battle against Lorelei, clinging to the outside of the plane, in flight, disabling instead of killing those who had been corrupted by the witch. By all rights the two women should have been friends, united in a common goal, but for the bitterness Lorelei's presence had seeded within May. She sank to the ground in the hall, her back against the wall beside the door, burying her head in her hands.

Could it be as simple as what she and Ward had shared? Could it be that Coulson and Sif simply needed the release that sex brought? Could it simply be that he was enamored of her? Did she have any right to make a judgment? The answer was no, and the truth of it, (and other feelings she did not want to admit she was experiencing) pushed that anger to a roiling boil. The fury was unleashed on a heavy bag hung in the hanger deck; which she pounded until her knuckles began to bleed.

Her body sat astride his hips, her hands caressing his chest, not flinching at all as they passed over the uneven surface of the scar. For the first time that he could remember, Coulson did not feel shame, or revulsion at exposing his chest. Melinda had told him that it made him a different person, and he had never been prepared to believe that until she had said it. He had clung to the fact that he was still fundamentally himself, Agent Phillip Coulson, but he was not. And the scar was as much a part of this reborn 'him' as his fingers, and muscle memory: discovering that was freeing. Sif's mouth pressed down hard against his and he struggled to find his hands, to bring them to her thighs, to push the shift along that smooth skin, over her waist, up her sides, brushing her breasts with his palms as he pulled the fabric over her head, exposing her as completely as he was. She was as beautiful as he had imagined (when he remembered that he had had a passing thought of that – much to his surprise). Her abdomen had a six pack that a great many men would have been jealous of, her muscled arms were taught, her breasts full, but not overly large, though a beautiful pale, crowned with rosy centers. He had little time to gaze though as she shifted those strong hips and plunged him deep within her body. Both cried out with the force of it.

The force did not dissipate, not on either's part. Every ounce of strength and passion and desire was thrown into the coupling. Hands grappled for purchase, muscles tightened, backs arched and lips were parted to steal air and kisses nearly to the point of pain. Release came at the point of the flame, the expansion of the shock wave, teeth were grit and fingers curled into flesh to ride the crest before Sif collapsed upon his chest and he wrapped her in his arms, crushing her to him.

Continuing to hold her carefully, Coulson rolled over to place Sif beneath him, and he kissed her very softly and with tenderness, speaking in his hushed voice.

"Now I will be gentle."

He planted slight kisses along her jaw line, lingering to inhale the fragrance of her skin, slowly working his way to her breast bone. Leaning on his right elbow he used his left hand to caress the swells of her breast, running a thumb over the very center even as his mouth teased the mound on her left. He moved so carefully that he could feel every quiver of her skin under his ministrations. He switched his arms to attend to her evenly, keeping his chest over her belly so that she could feel the beat of his heart and every touch of his skin. Her soft moans encouraged him to continue his leisurely path.

Exhaling a warm breath made her shiver, but she made no move to cover or hide herself from him. Arms resting at her sides she gave over complete control to his mouth and his hands. Careful fingers joined his banquet as Coulson tenderly kneaded her skin, bending her and shifting her minutely to open for him. When it finally came time to lay out his whole form over her she was in a semi conscious state of bliss, just as he had wanted. Planting his lips over hers, he coaxed them to part for him, and slowly tasted her, caressing her tongue as he had caressed her skin. As she bent her head to receive his kisses he slipped himself between her legs, entering her with drawn out, gentle pressure. He brushed his lips over hers, not with the strength to bruise, but more like a delicate paint stroke, while at the same time he rocked his hips against her, back and forth as she moved to hold him.

Their release came like a sunrise, the warmth creeping over their bodies, the awareness coming like the rosy light, an awakening of senses like an awareness of life itself. Holding each other close, the trembling wrapped them like a deep kiss.

Sif was pulling on her tunic while sitting on the side of the bed/couch. Coulson had sat himself up, and wrapped himself in one of the blankets to protect his modesty. He watched her with some regret.

"This isn't some type of inter-realm booty call is it?" He asked, reaching for her hand.

She turned to him, smoothing the fabric over her abdomen.

"I do not know these words Phillip. But I can guess at their meaning." She took his hand and squeezed it. "You wish to know if this intimacy that has begun between us will continue."

"I do."

"It is my fondest wish that it will. Is it yours?"

"It is. Very much." He smiled at her and sank back down against the cushions.

"Then you have found hope as well Phillip?"

"A measure of it."

"Am I worth no more than that?" She grinned and smacked at his thigh playfully. In response he pulled her into his arms and down back beside him.

"You are worth a great deal more than that Lady Sif."

"Let me make a pledge to you then Phillip, Son of Coul. I too shall be the guardian of this realm. I pledge myself to Midgard and to you; to fight at your side and in your honor. I will ask Heimdal to cast his eye to you as he does to Doctor Foster for Thor. I too will watch."

"If your duties do not call you elsewhere."

"And in times of calm I will come to you. When next we meet I shall rush into your arms on the battlefield and kiss you soundly in front of everyone."

"As long as no one is shooting at us right then."

"Of course. We will vanquish our enemies and then we shall make love."

"Not on the battlefield though."

"You do make me smile Phillip." She pressed that happy smile against his mouth and took the embrace he offered her. "And it has been too long since I have felt this kind of happiness."

"Me too." He whispered. "Me too."

May was sitting on the deck, wrapping her bloodied hands in rolls of gauze, the heavy bag still swinging minutely from her last attack. She stood as Lady Sif came down the staircase, eyeing her with something akin to suspicion, though it made May feel a little sick to her stomach to feel that way.

"Your business with Agent Coulson is done then?" She asked, eyebrows raised.

"It is. Though I hope I will have occasion to return."

"Planning for more trouble Lady Sif?"

"Like you, I am always wary of trouble, sometimes I have even sought it out. But now I do truly hope for peace."

"What would people like us do if there was peace?"

"Sadly, I do not know if you or I will ever have to consider such a situation."

"Probably right."

"May I say again, before I go, how sorry I am for what Lorelei did to your Agent Ward."

"He wasn't mine." May paused, "But thank you anyways."

Sif nodded with respect and left down the gangway. May gave up on the punching bag and went to the kitchen to get some tea, unsatisfied.

Coulson had dressed in a pair of SHIELD workout sweat pants and a tee shirt; it hadn't seemed as if his suit was required that late at night when he truly expected to be alone. He'd dumped the bedding into the washer before heading to the kitchen to get a drink and something to eat. He forgot to eat quite a bit these days, it just didn't seem all that important, not with a supply of protein bars in his desk if he felt his blood sugar starting to crash. It wasn't a healthy way to live, he knew that, but having beat death once, he didn't think a poor diet was going to have any significant repercussions. He was thinking about a ham sandwich and nearly missed seeing May, who had tucked herself into a dimly lit corner of the kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug that was still steaming. The white (and somewhat red) bandages around her knuckles rerouted his brain's concerns.

"What happened May?"

"Workout." She said, no inflection in her voice.

"Punching cinderblocks?"

She didn't answer.

"May?"

"Everything okay with Lady Sif?" She asked, still staring at her tea.

"Just fine."

"Maybe next time you should just hang a tie on the door knob."

That statement hung in the air as Coulson composed himself, trying to find some kind of appropriate response that didn't sound like an excuse, or like anger, neither of which was suitable.

"We've been through hell May." He chose to answer by redirecting the subject.

"And back again." She mumbled. "Nothing good comes from Asgard."

"I can see how it could seem like that sometimes."

"Most times."

"They're still powerful allies."

"And more powerful enemies."

"At least the right ones are on our side."

"I just wish they'd stop showing up here, and leaving us to clean up after them. It isn't right what they leave behind."

"I'm sorry May. Sorry for what happened."

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters a hell of a lot."

"It shouldn't."

"May? You opened yourself up to feeling something."

"I don't want to hear this Phil."

"But you should. It's okay to be sad about it. You don't think I mourned losing everything I did, after SHIELD told everyone I was dead."

May sighed deeply.

"I wish I could say this wasn't the same thing Phil."

"But it is May. And it hurts, and that's alright."

"Don't give me some bullshit about time healing all wounds."

"I wouldn't dare." Coulson smiled.

"Good."

She took a long drink of her tea, smiling just a little bit behind the rim of her mug, not wanting Coulson to see it.

"She coming back?"

"Probably, is that a problem?"

"I'll cope."

"I'm glad. You could probably be friends."

May shook her head in disbelief, the little grin still present.

"You're important to me Phil."

"You're important to me too Melinda."

"If she makes you happy then I'm glad."

Coulson nodded and then went to get his own cup of tea, and to see about that sandwich. Nothing else needed to be said.


End file.
